


The Kraken and the Wolf

by softfawnangel



Series: A Song Of Salt And Iron [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Betrayal, Bisexual Sansa Stark, Canon Lesbian Character, Coronation, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forgiveness, House Greyjoy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ironborn culture is explored yeet, Kidnapping, Marriage, Minor Violence, Redemption, Robb Lives, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Weddings, get the tissues, implied oc x canon, theon is NOT castrated!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softfawnangel/pseuds/softfawnangel
Summary: Theon betrayed the Starks. He wanted to pay the Iron Price to be accepted as a Greyjoy, and he failed. He returns to Winterfell, narrowly escaping Ramsay Bolton's torture. He only asks one thing; to be forgiven by his first love, Sansa Stark. But that isn't as easy as it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

“Goodbye Father!” Theon said, waving one last goodbye to Balon Greyjoy. He didn’t realize he wouldn’t be coming back to the Iron Islands anytime soon. He thought he may stay with the Starks a few weeks, maybe months, while his father sorted out the expenses of a failed rebellion.

“Lord Stark,” He started, looking up at the older man with big green eyes. “What is Winterfell like?”

Ned knew this boy was naive and had never left Pyke, so it would be shocking for him to see and experience the cold and unforgiving North. 

“Well, much different from the Iron Islands, my boy. Very chilly for certain, but it’s got a charm to it” He explained as the ship began to set sail. “You’ll like it. I’ve got two sons about your age, and two young girls”

The young Greyjoy scrunched his nose. “Girls?” He crossed his arms. “Girls are icky and they aren’t very fun. They just sew, sing and cry.”

“Don’t you have a big sister, Theon?” Questioned the old Stark, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure she wouldn’t like to hear that.”

“Yara’s different. She’s tough, she’s like a boy! Sometimes she plays knights with me” Theon explained. “But most other girls are just...boring.”

“I suppose I had the same sentiments at your age” Ned shrugged. “But someday, you’ll meet a young lady, and you’ll be head over heels.” 

“Nah, not me Lord Stark.” The boy shook his head. “Marriage wouldn’t be all that fun.”

“Well, you will need an heir, and you have to get married to do that” Teased Ned, making Theon reel in disgust.

“Babies are annoying! I don’t want a baby.” Theon exclaimed. “They cry, they smell and they’re all around yucky.”

“Well, you will have to get used to babies. We have one back at Winterfell, and Lady Stark is pregnant with another.” The old Stark smiled at the thought of seeing his little ones. It would be a few days before he did, but he couldn’t wait. 

Still, he wasn’t sure how to feel about taking the young Greyjoy away from his father. He knew it was a just punishment for a rebellion, but how would he adjust to life in the North? Would he get along with the Stark brood? Would he ever ask when he was going home? These were all things that Lord Stark was considering as the Iron Islands slowly disappeared in the horizon.

Theon ended up napping through much of the journey down in the cabin of the ship, and when he wasn’t sleeping, he was playing ship captain or eating. He was an active ten-year-old, so when he was tired, he was out like a light. 

Ned took care of the boy as if he was his own son. It was only right to do such a thing, considering he wouldn’t be seeing his real father for a very long time. He just had to make the child feel welcome and safe.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Back at Winterfell, Sansa sat at her mother’s vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. Even at the young age of seven, Sansa cared much about looking pretty.

“Mother, will you braid my hair?” She asked. It was getting close to bedtime, and Sansa didn’t want her hair to get too tangled while she slept.

“Of course my little dove-- let me sit Arya down.” Catelyn spoke, gently letting the three-year-old sit on the bed.

“When is father coming back?” Sansa asked, looking back at her mother with a little bit of sadness in her blue eyes. She missed sitting with her entire family at dinner, and she hated having to worry about father possibly having died.

“Soon, Sansa. I received a raven saying he should be back within the next few days.” Lady Stark brushed her eldest daughter’s fiery red locks. 

“Perfect! I’ll have to make him something to celebrate him coming back...maybe I can I try sewing!”

Catelyn gave a slight chuckle at her daughter’s eagerness. “Last time you tried to sew you pricked your finger… are you sure you’re ready to try again?” She teased.

“Of course! A proper lady can sew, write, entertain and make polite conversation.” Sansa said, reciting what she had heard from both Lady Stark herself, and her tutor. 

“Well yes, that’s true.” Admitted the Tully-born lady. “And as you grow, you will become good at those things and so much more my little love.”

Sansa smiled as her mother continued to fix her hair. “I think I will be the best at it!” She said confidently, sitting up straight. “Maybe I’ll even be queen!”

“Oh a girl can dream, Sansa. At the very least, you will marry a lord who will love you enough to make you feel like a king.” Her mother responded, tying the end of the braid. “Now, off to bed with you.”

Catelyn placed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, before sending her off to her room. 

“Goodnight mother!” Sansa exclaimed, before going off to her bedroom. 

As the little redhead climbed into bed, she clutched a pillow close to herself. She thought about what it would be like to be married, to live happily ever after. The young Stark had always loved fairy stories and dreamed of living one of her own. Maybe her true love was just around the corner. Mother said at her age, true love wasn’t found, but Sansa just had to disagree. She felt that true love was real, and she could find it anywhere. As she fell asleep, she hoped for dreams of prince charming.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Winterfell was a big place, about the same size as Pyke, but Theon was still in awe. It was much different in appearance; colder, and a bit more gloomy. He liked it, although he still wondered when he would be going home.

“Lord Stark, how long will I be staying here?” He asked, walking in with Ned.

“A while, Theon, but rest assured you will go home someday” Ned responded cryptically, not wanting to make the child feel completely hopeless. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

Theon found himself wondering about, until he saw Lady Stark with her children; Robb, Jon Snow (who was not technically her child), baby Arya and Sansa. Sansa had to be around Theon’s age-- maybe two or three years younger. Theon still found himself wanting to make friends with her.

“Hello, my lady, I am Theon Greyjoy of Pyke” He greeted her formally as he had been instructed by his father, sister and Lord Stark. He even kissed her hand, as icky as he thought girls were.

Sansa giggled, impressed by this boy and his gentlemanly behavior. As he pulled his mouth away, quickly wiping it on his sleeve, Sansa curtsied.

“Sansa Stark of Winterfell, it’s a pleasure to meet you” She responded, knowing exactly how to act like a lady. She had been well taught for certain. “Did father bring you?”

“Mhm! He said my father needs to set stuff right at home, so I’m here.” He explained, crossing his arms. “He said I need to be your friend.”

“Well, I think that won’t be difficult! I think I’m pretty fun.” Sansa replied. “Maybe you can play with me and Robb! Oh, you’ll like Robb!” She took the boy’s hand and ran off to find her big brother.

“Looks like they’re getting along.” Catelyn marveled, watching the Greyjoy boy and their eldest daughter rush off.

“I’m surprised, he kept on talking about how girls are ‘icky’” Laughed Ned, smiling. “Maybe he’ll get used to this place.”

“Someday he’ll have to learn why he was brought here.” His wife replied. “He can’t stay in the dark forever”

“I plan to tell him when he’s old enough to understand. I don’t want him to feel like a hostage” explained Ned, sighing. “He doesn’t deserve that. He’s just a boy.”

“He will learn, though. I guess we can only pray that he won’t resent you.”


	2. Grow Fonder

Through the years, Theon grew to become a good friend of the Stark children, specifically Sansa. At age seventeen, he was talking to Robb as the pair got ready for an audience with King Robert Baratheon.

“She’s perfect” He spoke, beginning to dress after having he’d had his shave. “I swear…”

Robb rolled his eyes. “She’s my sister. Also, you sound like her. A teenage girl” He chuckled a little, though needing to stay as still as he could considering he was getting shaved now as he spoke.

“Oh, she may be your sister, but I’d like her to be my wife,” He said, chuckling. “Or at least one ni--”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence, Theon” Jon interjected. “I don’t think you want to talk about how you want to sleep with a girl in front of her older brothers”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t want someone talking about my sister.” He mentioned. Theon now knew why he was kept at Winterfell, and he secretly resented it. He thought it simply wasn’t fair to the family he should be loyal to. Still, the Starks had treated him with great kindness, and he had met fair Sansa because of them.

“I’ll make sure to sit between you two lovebirds. Wouldn’t want any funny business-- she’s only turned fifteen recently.” joked Robb, standing up and starting to dress. “She’s still young for marriage.”

“When did I say marriage?” Theon asked, chuckling a little. “I just like her, I’ll wait to ask her hand.”

“I wrongfully assumed you wouldn’t bed a woman before marriage.” Robb retorted. “You really need to learn to be a bit more of a gentleman, or Sansa won’t be interested.”

“I think she is already,” Theon responded cockily. 

“Your head is up your ass” Jon muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Sansa again sat at her mother’s vanity as she did when she was a little girl, but this time Sansa brushed her own hair and put on her own perfume. At fifteen she believed she was a woman, despite her mother, father and older brothers’ disagreement with that notion.

“Do you think I did well with my hair?” Sansa asked, turning to her mother. It was braided and brushed as a northern maiden would, and that was exactly how Sansa liked it.

“You look wonderful” Catelyn replied, having Sansa stand. “Arya, sit down. I need to braid your hair.”

Arya huffed, crossing her arms. She stuck her tongue out at her mother.

“Arya Stark!” Catelyn exclaimed. Arya was a difficult child, but still very kind and brave. She liked her mischief, but when mother gave that look she had to behave herself.  
“Fiiiiine” Arya responded, plopping down onto the chair.

Sansa now sat on the bed, her direwolf puppy, Lady, resting at her feet. She smiled a little to herself.

“Do you think Theon will like how I look?” she asked, a glimmer of youthful excitement in her eyes. 

Catelyn chuckled a little, shaking her head. She remembering being Sansa’s age, and her childish crush on Brandon Stark. She was so happy she ended up being engaged to marry him--though he did die, Sansa may not even have the oppurtunity to be engaged to her love. She knew Sansa was supposed to marry someday, but the likelihood she would ever be allowed to marry the son of a traitor wasn’t all that strong.

“Of course he will, dear.” She told her, looking at her red-haired daughter with pride. “He’d be a fool not to.”

“Will dinner be starting soon? I want him to see me as soon as possible!” Sansa said excitedly, twirling in the blue dress she had sewn herself.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, my little love” Catelyn explained. 

Sansa sighed in response, picking up Lady and sitting her in her lap. She petted her gently, only somewhat understanding what her mother meant. 

“I suppose it’s a hard concept for a girl your age to understand, but you will learn patience.” The older Stark woman explained, finally finishing Arya’s hair. “Now girls, I think dinner will be within the next thirty minutes, so come when you’re called, alright?”

Sansa nodded eagerly, and Arya just crossed her arms. God, did she hate “lady things” like having her hair up and wearing big dresses.

“Sansa, I want to go out and play with Bran and Rickon,” She said, looking out the window to see the younger boys rushing about with wooden swords. “I don’t like this stupid dress. I look like a clown.”

Sansa shook her head. “You look elegant! What are you talking about?” She never understood her little sister’s disdain for such things as dresses and needlework. She always liked them and just couldn’t grasp why Arya didn’t  
.  
“I feel stupid in this. I want to go outside” Arya stubbornly retorted.

“Well…” Sansa got an idea in her mind to help her little sister and smirked to herself. “You want to go outside and be a lady knight with your brothers?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Arya nodded vigorously. “Yes! It’d be much more fun than...this”

Sansa smiled a little. “You should be able to, but...a lady night cannot tell other knights she’s a lady.” 

“Well, I suppose I could get in trouble for it.” Arya sighed. “That isn’t fair”

Sansa shook her head. “Of course not.” She was actually serious, she may not have a lot in common with Arya, but she wanted her to be happy. “But look at it like this; a knight, or-- an assassin, rather, must be quiet and unassuming. When you are at parties, play the role of being ladylike to trick your enemies!”

“Ooh...you’re very smart, Sansa...” Arya responded, pondering the idea. “My enemies will never see me coming! Thank you” 

Sansa giggled. “No problem, Ser-Lady Arya.” She saw her sister dash off down the hall, probably looking for Nymeria.

Sansa really did love and care for her little sister and prayed for her happiness every night. She knew she was a special girl with crazy ambitions, and she loved that about her. Arya wanting to pursue her own way was something she always admired.

Soon she was called down to dinner, so she touched up a little and headed downstairs, making a point to sit directly across from Theon. She looked at him, all groomed and handsome, those sea green eyes looking at her in a moment of wonderment.

Theon looked at Sansa all dressed in blue, her red hair shining like fire in the candlelight, her snow-white skin glowing. By the Drowned God...she was beautiful. As dinner went on, he found himself admiring her often. The way she laughed at his stupid jokes, the way she tended to curl a strand of her russet locks around her finger when listening intently, and her smile-- oh, her smile. It was like a ray of sunshine on a day that was expected to be cloudy, like a gemstone that glints in a pile of rubble-- or in more simpler terms; radiant.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After dinner, Theon found himself in the courtyard, looking up at the stars alone. Robb had stayed with his mother and father to meet the Baratheon family, Jon was likely asleep, and the younger three Starks were certainly asleep. Theon just didn’t feel tired that night, so there he stayed, the stars reminding him of the glint in Sansa’s eyes when she looked at him. It was a cosmic sort of phenomenon; like the universe had collided in her bright blue eyes in a supernova of love and girlish excitement. He just couldn’t stop thinking about the Stark maiden. Maybe that was the reason he was sleepless on this chilly night.

Sansa was in the courtyard as well, coming upon Theon and sitting next to him. She sat Lady in her lap, stroking her soft fur, staring up at the stars as he did. The night was cloudless, and the stars seemed particularly bright that night.

“Look, a shooting star!” Sansa said, directing Theon’s attention to it. “Make a wish!” She said excitedly.

“Oh, I already have,” He said, his cheeks reddening. She looked so cute, admiring the comet with such wonderment and happiness. She was pure, and he loved that about her.

“What was it-- wait, don’t tell me” Sansa stopped herself. “It won’t come true if you tell me.”

“You don’t believe that old superstition, do you?” Theon chuckled a little. “I think I should tell you my wish. Maybe you can help it come true.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, how can I help?”

“I wished that the most beautiful girl in the seven kingdoms would kiss me tonight.” He said, looking into her eyes. His hand was now on top of hers. He had made his move.

“Oh dear me, well...I don’t think she’s here, Theon” Sansa humbly replied, unsure of what he was saying. She was in denial that Theon would ever find her as the most beautiful girl in Westeros. Maybe she’d be in the top fifteen, but certainly, there were girls more beautiful than her.

“She is, Sansa. I’m talking to her right now.” Theon got bold, leaning in and kissing her lips. He was gentle with her-- he knew this would be her first kiss. It was his as well, so he wasn’t entirely sure of what he was doing, just following his instinct.

Sansa kissed him back, her cheeks reddening more than they already more. She wrapped her arms around him. This had to be the most magical feeling in the world, she felt like she was walking on a cloud. It was at this exact moment she knew this was love.

“T-Theon…” Sansa spoke softly, gazing into his perfect green eyes. “I think I love you…”

Theon smiled, stroking her cheek. “I love you too, red wolf”

They took a moment, but they realized that they must go to sleep at some point. The two headed to their respective bedrooms, going to sleep with only the happiest of dreams. Sansa dreamt of happily ever after on the Iron Islands, marrying Theon, having children and being the perfect mother and wife she always wanted to be. Meanwhile, Theon dreamt of making Sansa his queen, his ruling partner and the mother to his children. 

Little did they know, things would not be as easy for the couple as their dreams made them believe.


	3. Such Sweet Sorrow

The next morning, Theon rose from bed, yawning a little and attempting to shield his eyes from the rays of the sun. The first thing he could think of was the night before; the feeling of soft lips on his; Sansa, his love. He momentarily wished she was waking up next to him, but reminded himself he’d have to wait for that sweet sin.

He got dressed and headed downstairs, knowing a wonderful breakfast will likely be awaiting him, Robb, and the rest of the Stark children. 

He was a little late to breakfast, but made it a point to sit by a sleepy-eyed Sansa who was merely sipping on some water and picking at a sausage. 

“Mornin’ bright eyes” Theon said, nudging her slightly in an attempt to wake her up a little. 

Sansa looked over at him, rubbing her eyes. She was only half-awake, but she still gave Theon a smile.

“Guess I slept so well my body isn’t all that interested in waking up.” She responded, waking up a little finally. “I had the most wonderful dreams, you know. All about a certain boy and I running away, living out happily ever after, having a family…” She was making a vague attempt at flirting, but she knew she had to be subtle, so she hushed herself up.

“Funny, I had a similar dream about a running away with a beautiful girl…” He responded, smirking slightly at her. “Of course, maybe it was more than just a dream--”

The couple’s banter was interrupted by Eddard Stark, carrying a letter he received by raven that morning. Theon had come of age, and as he promised, the boy would be allowed to return to the Iron Islands. It seemed that Yara had sent for him, as there was some sort of trouble at home. Eddard knew he had to hold up his end of the deal.

“I have news from Pyke, Theon.” The older male began. “You’re old enough to where you can return home now. I did say that at seventeen you could go home, after all. Your sister needs you at home” He spoke, somewhat saddened to have him leave. Theon was a part of the family at this point, as much a part of the family as Jon was. 

Now this made Sansa relatively upset as well. She looked to Theon with surprise and borderline horror.

She tried to remain calm for the rest of the day, but Theon would have to leave by nightfall.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was around sunset when Sansa found herself out in the courtyard, Lady standing right beside her. Seastorm, Theon’s blue roan stallion, was being saddled so that he could begin his journey home. She held a few sprigs of lavender as she approached him.

“Theon…” She saw him leaning up against a wall opposite the stables, his eyes downcast. She sighed and stood in front of him.

“For you…” She handed him the purple herb, gazing into those ocean green eyes. 

“Oh, I-- thank you, Sansa...” He was relatively shocked by the fact she’d given him flowers. The gestured was appreciated, he was more just surprised that he, a man, would be given flowers by a girl.   
Then he remembered the lavender field, Sansa’s favorite place for the two of them to sneak off to as children. While Eddard and Catelyn were distracted, the little Greyjoy and his most cherished friend would sneak off to a field that was as brilliantly light purple as some of Sansa’s favorite dresses. How she would stare at it in awe before taking her basket and happily picking them expressing how she would make a bouquet out of them when she returned. 

His most treasured memory of the place was when Sansa snuck him with her there on her thirteenth nameday. It was late afternoon, and instead of picking them and putting them in a basket, Sansa seemed more inclined to just sit among the flowers and talk to Theon. She managed to weave him a wreath made of them, and placed it on his head, before making one for himself. He remembered her humming a tune to herself, but one of which he could not remember the words.

“Theon...can we go one more time?” Sansa’s voice was soft and sad, like she was saying them on her last breath. 

“Sansa, we can’t right now...I have to go” He spoke, holding her soft, pale hands in his own. They were so much smaller, so much danitier than his own. She was like a porcelain doll; so delicate, soft and sweet. His heart ached at the thought of leaving, but surely he would return. He would never abandon his love.

“Will you come back?” The hope in Sansa’s eyes began to fade as she turned her head, her eyes unable to look into his. 

Theon tucked a stray strand of her fiery hair behind her ear, wanting to offer her some comfort. He could see the tears in her eyes, and by the Old Gods and the New, it broke his heart. He pulled her close, hugging her to his chest.

“Sansa, I promise, when I return to Winterfell, I will take you to the field again. There, I’ll kiss you just like I did last night...I swear by the land and sea, I will” 

Tears fell down Sansa’s face as she hugged him tightly. She didn’t want him to go, but the hope of him returning made this departure a bit less bitter. It was a sweet sort of sorrow, the kind that reminded Sansa that she would only have to miss him for a time, and that someday they would meet again.

Theon slowly pulled away, his hands now on her face. He wiped the tears away, then leaned down to gently kiss her forehead.

“I love you, Sansa” He spoke, smiling softly as his dearest red wolf.

“I love you too…” Sansa responded, smiling back at him.

“I...I have to go now, but remember. I will come back someday, for you” Theon slowly let go of her, before walking to go mount Seastorm. 

“Goodbye, Theon” Sansa said, watching him mount his stallion and wave gently to her. The sun was beginning to set, the soft orange glow of the light making him appear even more perfect than he already was.

As he rode past the gates, Sansa found herself rushing up to the highest lookout of Winterfell. She watched the Kraken prince and his stallion ride away into the distance, tears falling down her cheeks as they had before. Lady let out a mournful howl.

“Don’t forget me…” She whispered. “I will never forget you…”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sansa lie awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard she tried. Tossing and turning underneath the warm fur blankets, Sansa just couldn’t rest. Theon stayed on her mind, wondering if he would stay true to her and return. What if he found a nice ironborn girl and forgot about her? What if he never returned? Would he still love her even if he didn’t return for a whole decade? Sansa just couldn’t relax with these thoughts on her mind.

She sat up and looked at Lady, who slept peacefully at the end of her bed, near her feet. Leaning forward, she gently shook her wolf’s shoulder.

“Hey baby, wake up…” She spoke gently, Lady looking up at her. The wolf could sense that her master was sad, and moved up to lick her cheek.

She smiled weakly, wrapping her arms around the large canine’s neck. She just held onto her a moment, feeling almost automatically comforted by the wolf’s presence. 

She pulled back and rose out of bed, slipping on some shoes and grabbing her cloak. She shuddered a little. The nights at Winterfell were much colder than the days. She’d probably light her fireplace when she returned.

She quickly lit a candle and opened the door, directing Lady to follow. She headed through the corridors, past her sibling’s bedrooms, and her parents. The entire castle was quiet. Sansa and Lady’s steps were the only thing that were heard, but the quiet was welcome. Sansa enjoyed it, anyways. She rarely got to enjoy quiet like this; Winterfell was usually bustling with activity during the day.

She made her way out of the living quarters and found herself in the Great Hall. It was so strange to see it empty and silent. This late at night, everything was so eerily quiet. It was alien, but calm. She looked at the fireplace, where the embers were still slightly glowing, but only very slightly. Just enough to see the large wolf tapestry above the head of the table.

She admired the large tapestry hanging above the chair, depicting a dire wolf. She had helped work on fixing a rip the thing had sustained, but her needlework had been so good one would not be able to tell she had. She still took pride in that work, but then she remembered Theon again. He had complimented her on the work, and asked her to embroider something for her. She ended up doing so, embroidering one of his shirts with ocean themed designs. No matter how long he lived at Winterfell, he never forgot that he was ironborn. On returning to Pyke, he truly would be.

She turned away, heading outside now. The sky was not as beautiful as it had been the night before. It was cloudier, the moon only visible partially due to the clouds. Sansa sighed a little, disappointed in the sky’s un-remarkability this night. When she needed to see something beautiful most, she saw nothing but darkness.

She set the candle down and blew it out right before she arrived at the Godswood. She smiled a little as she arrived there, the moon finally appearing from behind the clouds. She took in a deep breath as she glanced about the trees. Most of them looked near black in the dim light of the night, creating shadows that looked twisted and gnarled-- but still, Sansa felt no fear in this place.

Sansa and Lady walked reverently to the weirwood tree, looking over at it in awe. No matter how many times she came here, Sansa always felt struck by the beauty of the white-barked tree. She felt comfort now; the Old Gods were here and ready to hear her. 

She got down on her knees, clasping her hands together. Lady lied down by her side, trying to look like she was praying too.

“If you can hear me, Oh Gods…” she closed her eyes. “Bring Theon back to me someday… so that we may swear our love before you and be wed”

She seemed to shake as she asked this, shivering in the freezing cold. 

“Keep him safe, bless him. Make it known to you all that I will love no man but Theon Greyjoy,”

The wind began to gently blow, but Sansa felt no chill as the soft breeze blew through her russet curls. Was this an answer to her prayer or mere coincidence, Sansa could not be sure, but she could only hope for the former. She rose from her position.

“Thank you,” She said softly, gazing at the face on the weirwood tree.

She looked back down to Lady, who stood up as she did. She pet the wolf once more.

“Come on, let’s get to bed... where I can be with Theon” She said, hoping that her dreams would be filled with nothing but happy thoughts of their future. She could only hope for that tonight.


	4. Return To Pyke

Theon was exhausted. Three days traveling on horseback, even with breaks, was tiring. Finally, he was on a boat bound for Pyke, which knowing Ironborn sailors such as the ones who manned this ship, it won’t be long before he’s finally home. He didn’t expect these sailors, who worked the mainland, to recognize him.

As they set sail, Theon stared at the horizon. The places he’d grown to know for seven years began to disappear as they traveled farther and farther from them as if they were swallowed by the dark sea.

He thought of everything and nothing at once. Where was his home? Was he truly going home, or was he leaving home forever? His love was at Winterfell, but his blood was at Pyke. As the sun began to rise, he could see her fiery locks in the sky. Bright, brilliant orange, and soft pink clouds that reminded him of her gentle and sweet lips. She had left a mark on his heart, and it would never be erased.

The lavender Sansa had given him remained tucked away in a small pouch-- he had to keep them like this, or they’d be lost. He took the pouch out and opened it just a little in order to smell them once more, remembering his time with Sansa. For a brief moment, he could feel her hand on his, he could see the love in her eyes. He could’ve stayed there forever, but he knew he couldn’t. He closed the pouch and put it back on his belt.

The sky was overcast and grey. Not stormy grey, simply dull and lifeless grey. He sighed and began to see an only slightly familiar sight on the horizon. A castle on a cliff, a port full of large naval vessels, and a fishing village near the harbor. This was Pyke. He hardly remembered the place before he saw it, but now he felt a wave of comfort come over him. This was the place of his birth, where he was meant to be raised. 

As the ship was finally docked, Theon made sure his things were in order and Seastorm was ready to ride. The prince, the heir to the Salt and Rock Throne, had returned. 

He walked into the fishing village as if he owned the place, and by technicality, he did. Not that it was something anyone would want to own, really. It was old and sort of decrepit, clearly this was a village for thralls, or maybe really underprivileged ironborn. This place absolutely reeked of fish and salt. Theon loved the salty smell of the sea, but he couldn’t stand the smell of fish rotting in the sun, even if they’re covered in salt (a vain attempt to keep them from rotting so fast).

An old fisherman approached him as he walked through, Seastorm’s reins in his hand so he could lead. The Greyjoy looked at the old man with a bit of surprise.

“What’re you doin’ here, northerner?” He spoke, glaring at the unrecognizable prince. 

“I’m not a northerner,” Theon responded.

“Who are you then, boy?” He asked, raising a thick, grey eyebrow. This man looked unkempt, disgusting. He was just a bit too close, too, where Theon could smell his fishy breath and body odor. 

“Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy” He was trying to move away from the old man as he spoke. He wanted to make it known to this old hag that he was a prince and not to spoken to this way.

“What’re on about, boy? Theon Greyjoy is dead,” The man acted as if this was a commonly known fact; as if the entire kingdom had just accepted he had died.

“Well, I was a prisoner for seven years. I might as well be dead,” He replied, chuckling slightly and trying to keep his cool. “What’s the quickest way to the castle?” He asked, pushing the old man out of his way so that he could mount his horse.

“Now tell me why the hell I’d know that, ‘prince’! Shouldn't you know your way back home?” The fisherman responded mockingly, glaring at him and poking at the horse’s legs with his cane. Seastorm’s ears went back a little, annoyed by the poking. The horse nickered in agitation, ready to move. Theon gently stroked his neck in order to calm his stallion down.

“You live here, I’ve been gone for seven years-- also, leave Seastorm alone, damn it” Theon responded frustratedly. He didn’t like seeing his horse agitated.

That’s when a young woman rode up to him. Her hair was cut unusually short for a girl of this time, the chocolate brown locks barely brushed her shoulders. Her eyes were dark as her hair, and their gaze was one that could strike fear into her enemies. She rode a large black friesian with the sigil of House Greyjoy decorating its tack.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” The girl asked, giving a slight smile. “Could it be my dear baby brother?”

“Cut it out, Yara, I’m five minutes younger than you” Theon responded, laughing as his twin moved her horse beside his.

“Suppose its been what, seven years since you were stolen from me?” Yara asked, clearly still bitter about his imprisonment.

“It was hardly stealing, I wanted to get away from you” He joked, unsure of how to respond.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Pyke’s not been the same without you, y’know. Since you left I’ve only been able to make up for half the trouble we caused together,” Yara paused a moment, taking a breath before she spoke once more. “However, I didn’t ask for you back just because I missed you; I asked for that every day and never got it. I’ll tell you more when we arrive at the castle” Yara explained, having her horse start moving on the quickest route. Theon followed, observing that Seastorm was more that happy to get away from that creepy fisherman.

“Must be important if it can get me out of imprisonment” Theon responded to her, now riding at her side.

“It’s more important than anything at Winterfell, that’s for sure. What was it like? Surely it was miserable” The Greyjoy girl said. “I bet they treated you like a dog!”

“Not at all, no” Theon shook his head as the horses slowed down. They were making their way uphill now. “They treated me well, as one of their own”

“Strange indeed. They softened you, I can just by lookin’ at you” Yara said, scoffing a little and shaking her head. “I’ve gotta train the ironborn back into you” 

“Soft? I’m not soft, Yara,” Theon denied it, but truly he wasn’t as tough as his twin. The northerners were a tough lot, but the ironborn were fierce. They flinch at nothing, and tears rarely come to their eyes.   
“Make any friends, hm?” She asked, smirking a little. “Any conquests of a more...carnal nature?”

“Yeah, a few” He admitted. “But the one I wanted most I never got in bed...not that it really matters”

“Oh, a pretty one I bet. What’s she look like?” Yara was curious now. She always knew her brother would turn out to be a flirt, but she never thought he’d actually fall for someone. Her face expressed a slight bit on concern. The laws of the Iron Islands said that a man could only take a foreign wife if he had captured her, and their children would never be as legitimate or recognized as children of an ironborn wife.

“Oh yes, beautiful. She’s got beautiful eyes, they’re so blue...and hair like fire” Theon smiled as his mind drifted to Sansa’s fair appearance. “Her skin is as white as porcelain, and she’s so...she’s so sweet. Perfect…”

“You really have gone soft, fallin' in love" Yara rolled her eyes.

“And? Who couldn’t fall in love with someone like her?” He smiled like an idiot.

“Someone who’s never met her,” Yara responded shortly, finally halting her mare in front of the grand castle that was Pyke.

“Drearier than I remember it” Theon spoke, dismounting Seastorm. A servant lead their horses to the stables.

“Yeah, seven years will change a lot,” Yara lead her brother inside, to the great hall. 

The place was dark, but it worked for the ironborn. On the walls were tapestries depicting battles at sea and the family sigil, the Kraken. Theon remembered some of them, but others were new. He remembered his favorite; a large image of the kraken dragging a ship beneath the waves. At age eight, he had requested it be moved into his bedroom. He got his request, and he couldn’t wait to see it hanging there. 

The family portrait that hung to the left of the throne was not the same one he remembered. Instead of depicting his older brothers, Yara, his mother and himself, it was just Yara and Balon. It had to be relatively new, considering Yara’s appearance wasn’t much different from how it was as she stood beside him.

The throne itself was massive and shaped like a Kraken. The seat was the body, the head forming the back. Two of the eight tentacles of the fierce creature were armrests, and the rest were ornamental. It created an intimidating aura to merely see it, let alone see someone upon it.

However, the man who sat on the seastone throne was a shell of what he was when his son was ten. Old, wrinkled and weather-worn, Balon Greyjoy’s appearance showed that he had lived a hard life. His hair was white and thin, and his eyes were a cold and dull green. He glared at Theon, disdain in his eyes.

“About time you came back” The old King spoke. “Whole kingdom thought you were dead, boy”

“I noticed” Theon responded, crossing his arms. “I didn’t exactly get to choose when I come back, father”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m sure they raised you well” Balon grumbled.

“Father, if I may interject--” Yara was halted by Balon by him raising his hand.

“Yara, you know Theon will need to get used to living here again. I won’t be here forever, and only my son can be the Salt and Rock king” Balon rose from his seat and circled his son, who had certainly grown well. Theon was now tall and more muscular. His hair had darkened a bit since childhood, and he had a slight scruff on his chin. Those eyes of his had not changed though; they were still the stubborn, sea-green eyes of a Greyjoy.

“You’re soft” The old man commented, glaring at him. “They really wanted to make you Theon Stark, eh?”

The younger Greyjoy shook his head. “I am not a Stark, father” He responded, though deep in his heart he wasn’t sure of his answer. He had given his heart to a Stark, and planned to marry her. She was a part of his family.

“You were raised a northerner. Yara’ll have to beat the ironborn back into you” Balon spoke, giving an almost malicious chuckle. “Now, I’ve got business I must tend to”

The old Greyjoy got up, taking his cane as he walked. When he was out of the room, Yara looked at Theon seriously.

“He won’t live much longer, Theon. He’s never needed that cane until last month” Yara spoke, sighing a little. “You will become king after his passing”

“I-- I don’t think I’m ready for that, Yara. I’ve only just returned, and he barely accepts me as an heir!” Theon spoke, quite shocked at the prospect of becoming king so soon.

“You’ve got a while, probably a few months at the shortest,” Yara shrugged and crossed her arms. “Sure you’ll be a great one, brother”

In truth, Yara didn’t think Theon would make a good king at the moment. He was barely ironborn right now, he hadn’t even seen his family or the Iron Islands in seven years. Much has changed since he was gone. Not even Theon was sure he was ready. He had much to learn before he was to even consider being king.


	5. What Is Dead May Never Die

It was a grey, somber afternoon. The sky was almost night-dark, but the sun’s rays tended to peek through the clouds on occasion. Even the sea seemed to be calm and solemn. Standing in the waves, ankle-deep, was Theon Greyjoy. 

Watching from the shore stood Yara and Balon, their stern gaze held on the ironborn youth. Though Balon looked displeased, Yara watched with a whisper of pride in her brown eyes. Over the past few months, she had watched this northern ward become an ironborn man, a true prince of the Iron Islands. 

Yara could remember bringing him on his first raid only two months prior, watching him try to be “honorable” with his killings as a Stark does. Sparing the lives of innocent men, taking captives instead of killing—oh, has he come a ways since then. 

They had returned from their most recent pillage only three days before, Yara believed he was finally becoming a man. 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

There was a storm the day that the Greyjoy’s ship arrived at port. It was a smaller village in the Westerlands—an unimportant, lower house ruled over it, a house sworn to the Lannisters. The people all seemed surprised. It was rare that the Ironborn would target a westerosi village, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there? 

“This is it?” Theon asked his sister, unimpressed by the town before him. He crossed his arms. “Easy”

“Heh, you need easy. You ain’t experienced like me, little brother” Yara told him, lightly hitting his shoulder. “Today you’re gonna show me that you’re a man”

“I thought I became a man when I first slept with a woman—also, I’m not your ‘little bro’, it’s a five minutes difference between us” Theon reminded her.

“Oh, there’s so much more to being a man than using your cock, Theon…” The young woman reminded him, sighing. “If that were the case a lot more boys would be men”

“What ever you say, sister” He replied, rolling his eyes and pushing her away. He could handle himself; he didn’t need her to treat him like he was still ten years old like he was when he left Pyke.

Theon had his armor on, his sword unsheathed and ready to attack. The village was silent, so silent one could hear a feather drop. Then, like that very feather finally hitting the ground, chaos ensued.

The villagers began to scatter, doing their best to protect their belongings—not really bothering for each other. The ironborn soldiers rushed in, stealing all valuables and food, slaying the men and taking their women (presumably as salt wives). The smell of blood and fear filled the air. The smoke in the air was thick and made it difficult for the natives to catch their breath as they struggled to escape.

The Greyjoy twins enjoyed the adrenaline rush, taking down these unfortunate creatures much like sharks swimming up on a defenseless school of silverfish—one would hardly consider it a battle when there’s no worthy opponent. 

Theon was in the axis of the fight alongside his sister, where they easily trounced the strongest of the male villagers. Considering these men, despite being the strongest of the little town, were malnourished, the fight was as effortless as a knife through warm butter.

Difficulty arose when the Lord of the village and his band of sword-wielding simpletons entered the scene. One could see the remnants of a once powerful in the eyes of the middle-aged Lord. 

He scoffed at the ironborn ship and its crewmembers, particularly the two mere children standing before him. Little did he know, across from the innocuous smirk on his face, stood a deadly combination of fearlessness and brutality. Although they may appear unaccomplished and fool hearted, it was they who would be smirking as he breathed his last breath. 

“I’ve seen you ironborn raid a village before—ten years ago, when your kind tried to rebel. Where did it get you?” The man chuckled to himself, before pausing to study the young man before him. Squinting his eyes and as if deep in thought scratching his chin, he pointed at the young Greyjoy, his finger mere inches from his face.

“You…boy! Remind me, is it Greyjoy or Stark? Weren’t you the one plucked from mommy and daddy when you were but a tot? I heard that you cried for weeks wanting your sissy!” He didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted by the absurdity of these juveniles. 

“Are you his dear sister? Must have been such a cruel punishment to leave your house heirless, no capable rulers. The iron price was paid then, wasn’t it my dear? What are you doing on a raid? Shouldn’t you be married and at home with a suckling child at your breast?” He asked as he turned to Yara, mocking her.

Yara grimaced and clenched her jaw. This man, this absolute princox even dared to speak of her and her brother like this—and thinks there aren’t any consequences? This fool is dead wrong.

“Indeed, the iron price was paid…” She quipped, a sly, fiendish grin growing on her face as she slowly pulled her axe from her belt. 

“…and now, we will pay it again” Theon added, drawing his sword.

Ignoring the clear warning signs again, this minor lord guffawed once more.

“You’re a bit old to adopt into my family, but I suppose you could be a stable-boy…and you, girl, we could always use more help in the kitchens” The man mocked.

Within seconds, Yara kicked the man down and started to violently beat him, no regard for anything around her. n her rage, she hadn’t even noticed the repugnance for this man seething in her brother’s eyes.

She paused, though, looking to Theon as she got off the man. His face was bloodied, a tooth or two knocked out. He couldn’t get up—his body ached too badly. She smiled as her brother. It was time he became truly ironborn.

Theon raised his sword, and in one blow, thrust it into the man’s stomach. He heard a gurgled wince of pain as the sword passed through vital organs and crushed his ribs. Before the Greyjoy youth could think, he was twisting the sword, causing this disrespectful lord as much pain as possible. 

The adrenaline rush finally ended, and he pulled the bloody sword out of the man’s body. He saw his eyes grow dull, his skin growing milky-pale. He was limp, dead. 

All that Theon could hear was his own breaths, and all he could feel was his heart pounding. Slowly he put away the sword, still staring down at the body below him.

“Theon…you did it” Yara spoke, in awe of her brother’s brutal act. “Didn’t think you had it in you”

“Is that pride I hear in your voice?” Theon questioned, surprised at her. He knew his sister—rarely did she ever express pride, especially towards him.

“Yeah…you’re a man now. By the Drowned God, I never…fuck, I am proud” Yara pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back before pulling back. “Let’s get you home, it’s time for your blessing”

As Theon, Yara, and their crew headed back to the ship, he thought about all that had just happened. They had burnt the town to the ground, they had taken all valuables, and defeated the lord of this village. He felt truly ironborn, like if he were to become king soon, maybe, just maybe, he could do it. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

As Yara began to focus on the event currently taking place, the Drowned Man – Theon’s uncle, Aeron – took out his waterskin, putting his hands on Theon’s shoulders, signifying he is to kneel.

Theon knelt down, feeling the cold seawater soak his trousers up to the mid-thigh. To most, this would be uncomfortable, but in this moment, Theon thought it felt right. The sea was where he belonged, no matter how his father stressed that he had not become ironborn. It was in his blood.

“Let Theon Greyjoy, your servant, be born again from the sea as you were” The priest said as he opened the waterskin and began to pour cool seawater over Theon’s head. “Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel”

Theon closed his eyes as he felt the water run down his forehead, to his face. The water was cold, a bit colder than the water he was kneeling in—likely due to the fact it was kept in that skin. He didn’t mind it; it was purifying, like he was washing away his time in the North—while still holding onto his memories with Robb and Sansa.

“What is dead may never die” He replied, looking right up at the priest, confirming his faith.

“What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger” Replied Aeron.

Theon rose, standing in the waves. The words resonated in his mind. He had not died when he left Pyke ten years ago to live at Winterfell; but returned, stronger than the ward he was before. No matter how the people believe would not believe him, he was alive, and he was ironborn.


	6. Burn The Past

Sansa eagerly awaited a raven at her window, delivering her a message with a kraken sigil depicted on it. How she desired to open it and read sweet words from her love. She’d felt the excitement a month ago, when he sent her a raven in response to her first.

She took it out of her fairytale book, where she liked to hide her love letters—just so that no certain overly-curious lionesses won’t read them.   
Opening it carefully, she read over the contents.

‘ My dearest, Sansa  
‘I’ve missed you so, so much. It just isn’t the same going down to breakfast and not sitting across from you, talking about our weird dreams or our plans for the day. I am trying to convince my father to import lavender seeds here, so that we can have a small place where it grows. I still think of you, every single day. Writing has been getting difficult for me, but I am sincerely putting in my best effort. I will not forget you, no matter how long we’re apart. Keep holding out for me sweetling, I won’t let you down.  
‘Sincerely,   
Your Kraken Prince, Theon Greyjoy’

Missing him was painful. She’d wrote him back as soon as she got the letter, but months passed and she had never received a reply. It truly broke her heart—how could he have forgotten her? She longed to marry him. She’d managed to get out of marrying Joffrey, considering he’d received an offer from the fair and clever Margaery Tyrell, but she was still stuck here. She’d already lost her father, and while still under the protection and watchful eye of the Golden Rose, she still could be in danger if she couldn’t keep Joffrey placated. 

She wanted to return North, to be with Robb and her mother. Robb was going to free the North, and if that happened she’d be married to Theon without protest from anyone—plus, the Iron Islands and the North would be able to form an alliance strong enough to stop the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in their tracks.

She looked over at Lady, who was lying down in the little dog-bed that had been sewn for her by Princess Myrcella. She and Sansa had become fast friends, and they did nice things for eachother when they could. 

“Lady!” She called, patting her knees. The wolf had grown a bit since Winterfell, about the size of your average dog now. She still had a ways to grow, but Sansa didn’t mind. She could protect her.  
Lady hopped into her lap as Sansa wrapped her arms around her. There was such comfort in her direwolf.

“That’s my good baby!” She said happily, trying to distract herself from the longing she held for Theon Greyjoy. Lady would never abandon her.

She smiled and scratched behind the wolf’s ears. For now, she would be able to temporarily forget the fact that Theon hadn’t responded to her. 

‘Maybe the raven got lost’ She tried to tell herself. ‘Surely he didn’t…forget me, did he?’

She just didn’t know, and it broke her inside. What if there really was another girl? Even Lady couldn’t comfort her fully. She didn’t want to be replaced.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hadn’t received any letters, not a single one. His poor Sansa, he worried for her safety. King’s Landing was no place for her, especially not after her father’s execution and her sister’s disappearance. He wished that he could sail there himself and rescue her, but his father and Yara would never allow him to do such a thing. It would be betraying them for his life as a ward of the Starks—something he could never do as heir to Pyke and a true ironborn.

Still, he missed Sansa. He’d sent her letters before, but it seemed they never got through—unless Sansa just was ignoring him. He could only hope that wasn’t the case. Men in the South were weak, unworthy of a beauty like Sansa. 

Theon couldn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned, but no matter what he couldn’t seem to rest. He felt like something was wrong about all this. Sansa wouldn’t just forget him, she wasn’t like that.   
Yara was his closest thing to a friend right now, even though she didn’t seem to care much for the Starks. He decided that he would consult her on this matter. 

Quietly he headed to her bedroom, gently knocking on her door. It was unlocked, and seeing as he didn’t hear any unfamiliar female voices – she did love her female companions – he opened the door. There, Yara stood, throwing letters into the fire. She was reading through one, the envelope opened. However, as he looked closer, he saw the wax seal and its sigil. A direwolf.

“Yara, what are you doing?” He asked as he entered. He didn’t really know what else to say besides that. He was in awe, utter shock that she was not only reading through mail that was clearly for him, but burning it. 

“What is that?” He walked to her and took the letter, trying to read its contents. 

“Give me that!” Yara took it back and threw it into the flames. “You need to forget your past, forget her! She means nothing now, you are ironborn, not a slave to the North. She’s made you weak, brother!”

Theon gritted his teeth. Sansa did care, she had been sending letters, but Yara was burning them and not letting him see. She was likely burning his letters to her as well.

“She hasn’t made me weak—I can’t believe you” He said angrily. “You can’t do this to me”

“Forget her, Theon, please. Its for your sake that I’m doing this. I want you to move on from her, for your own sake and the sake of the Iron Islands” She sighed. “Don’t be weak, please. She’s just a girl…”

“Right, just a girl. A girl who loved me” He said, turning away and storming off to his bedroom. He was utterly hurt. He didn’t want to send any more letters, for he knew that Yara would just dispose of them.   
This was a hopeless situation. Why had the Drowned God been so cruel to him? Was Sansa truly not meant for him? He was ironborn, but his love was of the North.

He didn’t know what to do now. He felt like his entire world was falling apart, like he was being pulled away from his family. He wasn’t soft, he couldn’t be. He was a prince of the Iron Islands. He was not a ward of the North. He just needed to prove it somehow.


	7. Pure Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the original chapter seven, but after rereading chapter seven I didn't like the direction this story was headed in with it and the original chapter eight. So, it has been rewritten. I hope you can enjoy the new direction and storyline that this fic will go in! New twists and plot points are ahead!

“Theon,” Yara walked into his room, candles burning bright as he sat at his desk. “Father wants to see you,”

“To hell with father,” He grumbled angrily, staring at the flame. 

“To hell with the Starks,” She responded, gritting her teeth. “We’re your real family,”

“No, you aren’t, you don’t even fucking care!” He raised his voice, slamming his fist down on the table. “I know I’m not important to you lot, just admit it,”

“Oh by the Drowned God himself,” Yara groaned, rolling her eyes. “You are the most important thing in my life right now, brother,”

“The most important thing to you right now is kissing father’s ass,” He muttered under his breath.

“Theon, just talk to him,” She spoke. “He told me that he wants to welcome you as a part of this family, seeing as he hasn’t done the best work of it lately,”

He shook his head, clenching his fists. 

“I don’t believe that,” He responded. “But…it seems I don’t have much of a choice,”

Theon exited the room and made his way to his father’s office, where the old Greyjoy sat at his desk and glared piercingly at his only son.

“There you are, boy,” Balon began, gesturing to a chair. “Sit,”

“Why did you ask for me?” The young man responded as he sat down. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me,”

“Now, where in seven hells did you get an idea like that?” He asked gruffly. “When the Starks stole you from me and Yara, and forced us into submission to the crown on the mainland, we were both devastated. Were your mother alive, she would have been too,”

“They were good to me, father, they treated me as one of their own,” Theon responded, though he was fully aware that Balon would not understand.

“They were good to you for a reason, boy, because they wanted to turn you against us,” The stubborn old man insisted. “They viewed you as nothing but a pawn to play against the Iron Islands with,”

“Well, what am I do then?” Theon said hopelessly. There was no point in arguing with Balon because he’d twist it somehow, and you just can’t get across to him. 

“Prove that you have no more allegiance to house Stark. You were never more than a mere pawn to them, they never loved you,” He continued, a slight tinge of anger in his voice was more noticeable than usual. 

Theon felt rage boiling inside of him and the urge to grab his father’s throat and watch the life drain from his eyes grew strong. He’s wrong, he’s so wrong. He loved Sansa and she loved him back, and he would be with her once more no matter what challenges they may face. However, he knew that he couldn’t retort. He stayed silent, but his expression gave away exactly how he felt.

“Get that stupid northern tart out of your head, she is in no way equipped to handle an ironborn man, much less a prince. She’s just inferior, unworthy of even the title of saltwife,” Balon pratically growled these words, his voice getting louder. 

The veins on the side of his forehead pulsated, his jaw clenched tight. He was on the verge of just slaughtering him. Still, he didn’t, he just glared daggers.

“I will find you a good ironborn bride worthy of your hand, hell, you may raid as many parts of Essos to take as many saltwives as your cock can handle! I cannot, however, allow you to foolishly love that Stark girl who was trained to manipulate you,” 

“I…” Theon paused. He realized something in that moment; Balon would likely not even be alive in a few years. If Sansa is willing to await him and resist her betrothal to Joffrey, then maybe, just maybe, he could get away with this. Until then, however, he would have to play by his father’s rules. Maybe he could allow Balon die proud of him. “You’re right, father,” 

“There’s the son I wanted to see this evening, the ironborn prince I lost eight years ago,” Balon actually managed to smile somewhat, as if he maybe a little proud. Finally, his son was heeding him and becoming who he knew him to always have been.

“How do I prove that I am still your loyal son?” He asked, mentally cringing because he actually had to let those words leave his mouth. 

“Destroy the Starks, raid their castle and show them that the Iron Islands will not bend to their will, and you are no Stark, not any longer. You are, and always will be, Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy, heir to the driftwood crown. We answer only to the Drowned God and not that blasphemous tree they’ve tried to plant inside of you. We are ironborn, you are ironborn, and they cannot melt you down and re-mold you into something they can use,”

Adrenaline ran through Theon’s blood even hearing this speech. Anger and excitement mixed in his mind, to such a point that he didn’t know what he was feeling anymore, each emotion vying for his complete attention. His didn’t know where he belonged anymore, but he knew that as long as Balon was alive, he would be ironborn at least superficially. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the early hours of the next morning, Balon had already assembled for his son the fiercest crew on all the Iron Islands and gave him the fasted, strongest ship in their fleet. Winterfell would quake at the sight of the black kraken sails.

Theon boarded the ship and as they departed form Pyke, he couldn’t help but just stare at the clear blue horizon. He thought of Sansa once more; the seas matched her shimmering blue eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was making the right choice right now. He apologized to a girl that was not even there, hoping that somehow she would come to understand why he’d done this. He did love her, but this was hardly a choice for him. There was no real way out.

That night when he laid in bed, she was, as always, his last thought before he succumbed to exhaustion. 

“Sansa,” He mumbled under his breath once more. “I hope you can forgive me,”


	8. Life Is Not A Song

Theon had not seen Winterfell in what felt like forever, but in truth, it had only been just under a year. It had changed so much since he’d last seen the castle, it looked hollow and lonely. No inhabitants whatsoever; no Catelyn to round the younger ones up, no Robb or Jon training with him, and no Sansa watching him shoot arrows with adoration in her eyes. It felt dreadful, but he knew what he had to do. He was no Stark.

Meanwhile, Rickon and Bran could see the Greyjoys coming, though they didn’t know why. The shorter boy who could stand on his own two feet smiled brightly.

“Bran! Bran! Uncle Theon’s coming back! Do you see him? Uncle Theon!” The eight-year-old exclaimed happily. “I bet he’s gonna help us take care of Winterfell while Robb’s gone! I betcha he is!”

“I don’t know,” Responded the older Stark, as Hodor lifted him onto his back so he could get a better view. “I don’t have the best feeling about this,”

For a boy of twelve, Bran was a smart child. He could sense danger, in a way, and he somehow knew that what Theon was doing was not helping them watch over Winterfell. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, even Summer began to act anxious.

“We should go to the courtyard,” Rickon said, grabbing Shaggydog’s leash. “Go say hello n’ that!”

Bran sighed and had Hodor follow Rickon down, their direwolves following quickly behind. 

There they saw the ironborn’s raiding party, and fear became more than apparent in Bran’s eyes. He knew exactly what was happening, but it seemed Rickon didn’t.

“Uncle Theon!” The smallest Stark ran to him and hugged his leg, “I missed you! Did Robb send you?”

Theon was silent.

“Uncle Theon?” Rickon was confused, and began to back away.

“Run now, if you know what’s good for you,” Theon hissed. “I don’t want to spill children’s blood,”

Bran looked down at his brother.

“Rickon, we need to leave, we need to leave now,” Bran was practically begging his brother to leave the castle. 

“B-But uncle Theon…h-how could…you…” The youngest pup began to sob, but followed Hodor and his direwolves outside the castle’s walls, into the woods. Niether boy knew where he was headed, only that they couldn’t stay here. Theon was no longer a Stark to them, that was for certain.

Meanwhile, the ironborn made quick work of killing all who fought back at them, and taking what riches they could. Theon would have been lying if he told himself that he didn’t enjoy slaughtering guards and taking their gold; more spoils for the glory of the Drowned God. He wasn’t just doing this for his father, but for his god. It felt good to finally be accepted into ironborn society instead of just being an inbetween, he was finally someone to them.

The men had finished their bloodshed and stood in the courtyard, seemingly waiting for their prince to speak. He smirked a little as he heard a final gurgled cry of pain from a northern soldier.

“They say an ironborn man is worth twelve from the mainland,” He spoke, smirking to himself. It was like he’d forgotten what this castle once meant to him. He didn’t even realize that the window he stood below had been his when he lived here. “You think they’re right, men?”

“Aye!” They were riled up already, and it seemed hearing their future king only roused them more.

“This day we have shown the Starks that we bow to none by the Drowned God. We will return to Pyke as the greatest of heroes. They’ll tell our stories until the Iron Islands have sunk beneath the sea, no man or woman or child will have not heard of us! Mothers will name their sons for us! Girls will think of us with their lovers inside of them!”

A horn was blown in a tower above them, prompting Theon to take out his bow and arrow and shoot at him.

“And when we die, the Drowned God will welcome us into his watery halls as the strongest Ironborn he’s ever known! What is dead may never die!”

However Theon’s speech was suddenly cut short when he was hit on the back of the head with a speak—naturally not by the blade, as he was just unconscious.

“I thought he’d never shut up,” Muttered one of the soldiers. 

“Well, it was a good speech,” A figure passed through the crowd holding a large sack of coins, dressed in black and red. “I commend him, really, I couldn’t rouse the armies of house Bolton so quickly myself,”  
“Whatever, bastard, here’s your bitch,” The solider handed him his prize, and the bastard handed him the gold.

“We’re going to have fun together, Reek, we are,” Ramsay smirked and took the unconscious ironborn with him, beginning to the day’s journey to the Dreadfort.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Word had traveled to King’s Landing on the sacking of Winterfell, as stories like that don’t happen so frequently. Wails of heartbreak could be heard from the chambers of Sansa Stark.

“How could he, how could he!” She sobbed, holding Lady close to her. “I thought he loved me, I thought he cared about us!”

Lady licked her master’s cheek, trying to comfort her. Sansa just clung to her.

“How am I supposed to go on…knowing he did this…” The redhead asked nobody in particular. “I loved him…I loved him so much Lady…”

She tried to calm her tears and looked at her little balcony and stood up, completely silent. She walked there and looked down at the drop, contemplating if the fall would kill her. She knew that a similar fall, or rather, push, had only paralyzed Bran. Gods though she longed to die right now. She was likely never going to see her family again, her father was murdered right before her eyes. She was in a place where everyone wants her dead anyways, and now her only love had betrayed house Stark and by proxy, her. He didn’t love her anymore, and now she felt like there was truly nothing left. 

Sansa stood on the railing now, still faced with a decision. The sky was so beautiful tonight, the sky speckled with shimmering stars, the full moon rising above the sea. What a lovely night to die.

Just as the red wolf was going to allow herself to fall, Margaery Tyrell walked in and gasped in shock to see what her friend was doing. 

“Sansa!” She practically had a heart attack, “What’re you doing? Are you mad? Come down from there!”

The Tyrell rushed to her and Sansa came down, hugging her friend and sobbing bitterly once more.

“What’s the matter, dear? Do you want to talk about it?” She inquired, stroking her fiery hair. 

Sansa just shook her head, sniffling and just buring her face into the taller female’s chest. 

“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to, Sansa, just let it out…” Margaery said softly, her words soothing and gentle as a mother’s. 

“I don’t know what to do, Margaery, I’ve lost him…” The Stark girl whined. “He doesn’t love me anymore…”

“Who’s this he?” Margaery asked, bringing Sansa to the bed and sitting down beside her.

“Theon Greyjoy…” Sansa whimpered. “I adored him, Margaery, and he betrayed us,”

“Oh, oh, I see,” The Tyrell’s face fell a little. She remembered when she believed in true love as a little girl. Despite being only one year older than Sansa, she had to mature much faster. She was to be the queen, after all. “It’s alright, men are quite awful dear,”

“He wasn’t supposed to be awful, I thought he would be different, I really did,” The redhead whimpered. “I adored him, I did, I wanted to devote everything to him,”

“Sansa, listen to me…” Margaery gently turned Sansa’s chin up to look at her and ran her fingers through her hair. “Life is not a song, and you will learn that to your sorrow…”

She began to sob once more, for she fully understood what Margaery meant. Her song has not begun when she kissed Theon outside in the courtyard so long ago; it was coming to an end.


	9. Penance

Theon’s vision was hazy as his eyes began to open, but he found he could not move his arms in an attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes. He blinked a few times and began to try and move away from where he was positioned, only to find that his arms and legs were restrained on an “X” shaped structure. He struggled to free himself but to no avail. 

Out of stress he hyperventilated. He was completely alone in this cell, this dungeon cell. Had Robb sent someone to imprison him for his misdeeds? He was silent, despite how terrified he was. There were no words that could truly escape him that would convey his utter regret and horror.

“Ah, you’re awake!” A man spoke, toying with a knife while sitting at a desk across from him. “Lovely, I’ve been waiting for you to finally get up. Well, not…get up, I suppose. More like open your eyes, see that you’re absolutely fucked,”

“Who are you?” Theon said angrily, gritting his teeth. “Why the fuck am I here?”

“Oh, where are my manners? You can call me Ramsay, Ramsay Snow. I’m, ah, a friend of the Starks,” He stood up from his place on the desk and approached his prisoner. “And don’t bother with any introductions, it’s completely unnecessary. I know who you are, Theon Greyjoy,”

Ramsay offered his hand to shake, before pulling back and laughing to himself.

“Guess there’s no reason for formalities, as I see you’re quite tied up at the moment,” 

“You haven’t explained why I’m here, asshole,” Theon growled, brows furrowed.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to demand anything, my friend, as you are imprisoned in my castle. My home, my rules,” The bastard responded. “I’m sure you understand, right?”

“Yes, but as a guest I should be told why I was…invited here,” The iron born added with increasing annoyance. “Listen, if you’re here to kill me, just say so, it makes things a lot easier for me to accept my fate, and it will be easier for you to get things done and over with,”

“Well, there’s no fun in explaining things, squid boy, but I like your spunk,” He laughed again, his icy eyes glaring still at him. Even though he had a chipper sort of attitude to imprisoned someone, there was clear anger hidden beneath his comedic shell. 

“Where’s Sansa? If you know the Starks you must tell me if she is safe. Do whatever you want to me, bastard, but if I hear she is hurt I may as well die right now,” Theon had no time for fun and games. He knew he’d made a grave error and if it had in any way caused his sweet Sansa harm he didn’t know how he’d go on.

“Ah, yes, the red wolf of Winterfell, I know her very well. In fact, I’d go as far as to say I love her,” Ramsay began, toying with his knife once more. “It’s a shame that she doesn’t have much of a clue that I exsist,”  
“Is that why I’m here? You mean to…eliminate your competition?” Theon asked, beginning to catch on to this whole situation. 

“Why, you are smart! How’d you ever get captured by some sick bastard leeching off of the fact his father’s a northern lord? Yes, I want you dead. For three reasons! One, I just love making people suffer—nothing gratifies me more. Well, besides thinking about Sansa at night and fucking whores with red hair. Two, you’re in the way of my dream. What is my dream? Well, it’s to be legitimized as Lord Bolton and marry Sansa Stark, and make her into my perfect, submissive wife—well, and to have lots of little Bolton heirs with her. Finally, you hurt her. You think she’s not sobbing her beautiful blue eyes out because of what you’ve done? I would normally be quite excited to see her cry, but knowing that someone she loved so much – someone that isn’t me—betrayed her, it frankly makes me want to—” Ramsay paused, finding the right words was important to him. “Cut your cock off and give it to my whore Myranda to use as she pleases. I don’t judge, really,”

Theon felt a wave of guilt rush over him. He had neglected to think of Sansa when he raided her home. He never imagined how it would hurt her. He was such a fool, he’d only cared about himself. It nearly brought the strong ironborn prince to tears, knowing the one woman he loved more than anything else in the world, the girl he had silently sworn to protect, was now crying because of him.

“You see, Sansa deserves much better than the likes of a man who would do such a sickening thing to her. After all, she is the most beautiful girl in Westeros. She deserves a man that will fiercely defend her from beasts like you. She deserves, well…me!” Ramsay smiled as he thought of her. “I bet she will be so pleased to know the man that broke her heart is going to die by her future husband’s hands. How…romantic. She did love a good fairytale, didn’t she?”

“I…” Theon couldn’t even speak. He knew there was no defending himself. Tears began to fall down his cheeks. He didn’t make a sound, but shivered and silently cried.

“Oh, are you…crying? Like a helpless little child?” Ramsay rolled his eyes. “Pathetic, really, this is pathetic. You have no right to cry when Sansa is back at King’s Landing sobbing into her pillow wishing that she’d never wasted her first kiss on you,”

“H-How would you know that?” Theon stuttered. “We were…alone…”

“I—I don’t have time for that nonsense, but let’s just say I’ve kept an eye on my Sansa,” Ramsay explained quickly. “Anyways, let’s get to the fun part! Do you like games? I know I do, in fact, I love them! They remind us laugh a little at our mistakes and look on the bright side of life! Even the most mundane, torturous parts of life can be fun if you look!”

Ramsay took his knife and positioned in on Theon’s chest. 

“This knife, for instance! I remember when I found it! I was a boy, yes, around…eight. Not much taller than, say, this,” Ramsay gestured to his hip. “I was wandering as a little bastard with no parents would do, and I found this knife sticking out the stomach of an unfortunate whore. I had never seen such a grim sight, and as she begged me for help, I just took the knife out of and wiped the blood off of it on her torn skirt. I just walked away as I heard her last breath escape her lips! Why, even in her death, something good and wonderful came; I got this lovely knife!” 

“Is that what you call fun, you sick fu—” Theon groaned in pain as Ramsay slashed his chest, not too deep, but enough to leave a scar. 

“It’s quite fun, Theon, in fact I quite enjoy it,” The bastard responded. “Just remember, for every slash I leave on your body, just know that it’s only a fraction of the pain you caused Sansa Stark,”

Theon accepted the pain. He thought that if he accepted it, maybe he could atone for everything he’d done, all the pain he’d caused Sansa. This was his penance.


	10. Emerald Among Pebbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we all love a good subplot in this house!

“Robb, I know this isn’t an ideal situation for you,” Catelyn began, her hand on his shoulder. “But you and I both know Talisa was a lying whore,”

“I know, mother, it took every fiber of my being not to have her executed,” He responded with a sigh. What she’d done to him was cruel, beyond cruel. “I don’t want to marry after what she did, I know all too well what women are after now,”

“My dear son…” Catelyn sighed and shook her head. “Not all girls are like that, I promise you. I wasn’t like that with your father,”

“I know, mother, but…but these Frey girls could care less about me, to be frank with you. Lord Walder just wants to have his daughter as the North’s queen,” Being the hot-blooded young man Robb is, he was quite frustrated by this. “None of those girls give one shit about me, and you know it mother!”

“Robb, dear Gods…” The Tully woman shook her head. “They will grow to care about you…”

The hotheaded northern man simply sighed, unable to argue with his mother for much longer. It was foolish, really, his mother would never see his point of view. He should know better than this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “Let me get ready, I don’t want to present myself like this to them,”

Catelyn nodded in agreement. Her son was still a bit dirty from travel and battle, seeing as he hadn’t access to a proper bath for a while. 

“Then bathe, dress nice, and I’m sure the girls will be ready to see you by then. Lord Walder will be happy to see his king choose a daughter of his for a bride,” She assured, smiling at him as she exited. The guest chambers he was given to stay in were quite nice, certainly fitting of a king. 

He had a bath drawn for himself, and there he relaxed and began to think once more. Maybe it’s possible that the Frey girls weren’t all as ugly and feeble as he’d been told. He couldn’t be sure, but he was doing his best to be optimistic about the current situation. He needed to, at the very least, be polite to whoever his bride would be. 

Who knows, maybe he even could come to love her as he had his illicit lover. Talisa, she was something. She was alright looking, no perfect beauty, but she had a lovely charm to her and a silver tongue. She knew how to talk (and drink) a man into bed with her, and with kisses and promises of love, Robb truly believed he’d met his queen. How unlucky was he when she got him so drunk that he didn’t even remembers the night previous. She claimed they had made love, and that she wanted to be his—but not even a week later she ran away with some blacksmith. 

Hopefully, the Frey girl he ended up marrying would be more loyal to him than that. If there was one thing he hated, it was disloyalty. As a Stark, honor was his priority. He was honoring his father by going to war with Joffrey, and now he would honor his promise to marry a young woman of house Frey.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, the Frey girls were all preparing to present themselves to the King in the North. Crammed together like grapes in a barrel, the sisters all struggled to brush their hair, powder their face and put on jewelry in front of the mirror. Each sister desired to be queen, but they all knew that only one would wear the silver tiara.

“What are you wearing?” Tansy Frey asked, looking at the shorter and curvier brunette. Corlisse was freshly eighteen and was one of the youngest of Walder’s actual daughters—most sisters at this time were in the middle of their twenties or approaching the end.

“I made it myself…” Corlisse spoke up, looking down at the gown. She was quite proud of it—the rich fabric were hard to come by and the embroidery she’d put on it had taken hours upon hours to complete. “Do you like it?”

“You look like a dream!” Walda piped up with a genuine smile on her rosy, round cheeks. The fat Frey knew that she wouldn’t be chosen, so she happily encouraged her sister to look as beautiful as she can. “The king will love it!”

“Oh yes, a dream indeed,” Another sister, Prysilla, replied sinisterly. “You really worked on this yourself?”

“She did!” Roslin nodded eagerly. “I helped her a little bit, but mainly it was Corri’s work!”

“Give us a twirl!” Walda said excitedly, watching Corlisse spin in the ruby-colored gown. 

“It’s good enough,” Prysilla responded. “But…look at that belt. Doesn’t it look familiar, Tansy?”

Corlisse’s heart sank a little. She had heard Tansy say she hated the thing, and so she decided to implement the belt into her ensemble. All she wanted was to impress King Robb and look pretty. It was rare she even got to wear such beautiful clothes—she and Roslin were the workhorses of the female Freys.

“Well, I knew you didn’t want it anymore…so I decided to take it…” Corlisse explained shyly. “You don’t mind—”

“Thieving cunt!” Tansy exclaimed, ripping the belt off of her. “I can’t believe you!”

“Why, look Kitty,” Prysilla gestured to yet another sister. “She took your necklace! And my ribbon!”

Corlisse began to scream and begged them to stop tearing at the delicate fabrics and beads, but not even her benevolent sisters could stop the overwhelming crowd. Her dress was left in tatters.

“That ought to teach you!” One of the sisters spoke, another one smacking her. “Don’t touch our things, Whorelisse!”

“I’m sorry…” She began to cry. “I’m so sorry…”

“You’re all so horrible…” Roslin glared and knelt down to comfort her sister. “I’m sorry Corlisse…”

“It was an ugly dress anyways,” She responded, looking at the ruined gown on her body. “I’ll have no time to fix this…”

“It’s alright Corlisse, here, maybe there’s a dress in the wardrobe!” Walda said optimistically, searching through a wardrobe closet. “Ah, here’s something! Me and Ros were waiting till your nameday to give this to you!”

“Are you sure—” Corlisse looked up and saw the dress Walda held up. It was a beautiful shade of green, made of a lovely velvet and brought out the beauty of the brunette’s eyes. She gasped.

“It’s…amazing…” She spoke, her hands going to cover her mouth. “It’s the most wonderful gown I’ve seen, Walda…”

“Amazing how I find such wonderful things on coincidence!” The chubby Frey said proudly. “Ros, maybe she can wear that to you and Lord Edumure’s wedding!”

Roslin giggled a little. “Oh, wouldn’t she look lovely in that? She’d outshine me as the bride!”

“Oh, well, I would never want to do that to you!” Corlisse spoke as her sisters helped her get changed into the gown. 

“You’ll be Queen in the North, I bet you’d outshine me anyways,” Roslin joked, the sisters stepping back to admire the smallest of them.

“How do I look?” Corlisse asked, ask they moved to give her a view of herself in the mirror. 

“Like a Queen,” They spoke in unison.

As Corlisse looked at herself in the mirror she was in awe. She twirled once more, her heart fluttering as she imagined how Robb Stark may react to seeing her in the lineup of Frey ladies.

Roslin got down on her knee and threw a cloak around her shoulders, taking Corlisse’s hand. 

“Lady Corlisse,” She deepened her voice as if to imitate a man. “You are the most beautiful girl in the Twins—marry me?”

She giggled at her sister’s roleplay and nodded in response.

“Of course, my king,” She took her hand, feeling Roslin place a kiss on it. “I would like nothing more!”

Roslin laughed to herself and made an attempt to pick Corlisse up bridal style, but she quickly gave up.

“I’m sorry my lady,” She continued in her fake-masculine voice. “I guess the war has made tired,”

The sisters all laughed together, enjoying seeing eachother so happy. It was moments like this when the Frey girls felt a little less unhappy at the Twins. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Soon enough, the Frey girls were all lined up and ready to be introduced to their possible bridegroom. All of them were stood in a row, like dolls on a shelf that were waiting to be sold.

All but one, as Corlisse was hidden behind Tansy and Prysilla. They’d made sure to conceal her, for they knew that she would most certainly get Robb’s attention if she were visible.

“It’s about time, your grace, my girls have been dying to meet you,” Lord Frey began in his raspy voice. “Take your pick,”

Robb couldn’t help but notice how young some of these Frey girls were. Girls as young as twelve stood in hopes to be chosen, but of course Robb took no interest in children. He found it shocking that Walder would send out his youngest daughters and granddaughters in hopes they’d be married. His parents would never have allowed such a thing.

“Some of these girls are quite young, aren’t they Lord Frey? I can’t imagine you’d want a girl of twelve married…” He commented in concern.

“Eh, they’ve flowered, it’s alright,” The old Frey lord spoke, laughing. “Guess you prefer your girls mature?”

“Yes, I suppose I prefer adults, Lord Frey, not mere children,” Robb responded, getting frustrated with the old man. He continued to scan the crowd of young women, and he wasn’t too impressed by them. 

There were a great plethora of young women; very few of which looked attractive. Some were thin as sticks, eyes sunken in with dark circles beneath, and some were wide and stocky as men. One in particular had a nasty cold sore on her lip, and it made him wonder if Lord Frey took care of his girls at all. They all seemed in such ill health, even through the powder, rouge and various other products they’d applied to their faces.

However, Robb tried to stay optimistic. He came upon two sisters standing oddly close together, and raised a brow. He could tell there was a girl standing behind them, and she was behind held back.

“You two ladies,” He gestured to them, “What are your names?”

“Prysilla, your grace,” She interjected. “Tansy here’s my sister,” 

“Well, Prysilla, Tansy, I’d like you to stand aside,” He spoke with little to no emotion. “If you’d please, my ladies,”

“There’s nothing behind us,” Tansy spoke, stamping down on Corlisse’s foot in hopes that this would deter her from trying to get past her and her sister.

The harsh stomp caused Corlisse to let out a yelp of pain, which drew Robb’s attention to her.

“Now, clearly someone is behind you. Please, I’ll ask you again to step aside,” He instructed, now mildly irritated.

The girls relented and moved aside, allowing Robb to look at the young woman that was originally being concealed from him. In Robb’s mind, it was as if he was living in one of Sansa’s favorite songs; where this young woman was the fair maid that he was bound for. Her hair was the color of rich dark chocolate, her eyes sparkling emerald stones, and skin an unblemished porcelain—save for the rosy flush that had come to her cheeks. She was perfect, perfectly beautiful and demure. The dark green gown she wore drew attention to every lovely thing about her—her curves, her eyes, her petite stature—everything.

“What’s your name, my lady?” He asked, going and taking her hand. He was so charmed by her already. 

“My name? I’m…I’m Corlisse, your grace,” She spoke, stunned by the fact he’d noticed her at all. “It’s an honor to meet you,”

“Oh, no, the honor is all mine,” He said softly, kissing her dainty hand. “You are quite lovely, Corlisse,”

“Thank you so much, your gr—” She was cut off by him shaking his head.

“Please, just call me Robb. I think I can be on a first name basis with my queen, can’t I?” He responded with a charming smile. “If you’ll accept my offer, my dear, I would love to name you Queen Corlisse Stark,”

Her green eyes widened, and her heart fluttered once more. He wanted her as his queen, out of all the women of house Frey, her. She had never been so happy. A smile crossed her lips.

“I’d accept any day,” She said happily, still holding his hands. “I promise I’ll be a good queen for you, Robb,”

“Then it’s settled, I will marry you,” He spoke, stroking her cheek. 

“Wait,” Prysilla spoke up, crossing her arms. “I thought the king would wish to marry a virgin,”

“What do you mean by that?” Robb asked, turning to look at the skinny brunette.

“Corlisse whores herself at night, how do you think she afforded such a dress? She gave herself up at twelve!” Prysilla accused. “You wouldn’t want a whore wife, would you your grace?”

“Corlisse, is this true?” Robb asked, only slightly concerned. The young wolf was no idiot, this was quite clearly a lie. Still, he had an urge to humiliate this girl in front of her family for being so disrespectful.

“No, it isn’t!” Corlisse denied it wholeheartedly, feeling mortified that such an accusation was made towards her. “I would never do something like that, I’m not a whore, I swear!”

“Where did you get your dress?” He asked calmly. “It is quite lovely,”

“We got it!” Walda spoke up, smiling a little. “Me and Roslin did. It was a gift for her, your grace, her nameday is in a few weeks!”

“Is that so? And you would not lie to me, would you?” Robb continued, his eyes conveying to Walda that he believed her entirely.

“Of course not, my lord, I would never lie to a king—that’d be quite foolish, after all,” Walda responded sheepishly. 

“Good, good. I have no reason to believe you, Prysilla,” Robb looked at the scrawny female once more. “I know you’re concerned for your house’s honor, but I have no doubt that Corlisse is an honest young woman,”

“But—I—” Prysilla had no more words. 

“That will be all, girl, hold your tongue,” Catelyn interjected. “Your king has made his decision,”

“I most certainly have, mother. Lord Frey, I will marry Corlisse,” He announced to the old man. 

“About time you chose…” He huffed. “Roslin’s wedding shall be tomorrow night, and afterwards you’re free to go back to Winterfell and pop out some heirs,”

The Frey maiden rolled her eyes a little at that. She would love to be a mother, but she hoped that her womb wasn’t the only valuable part of her.

The sisters all began to file out, and Corlisse remained alone with Robb in the great hall.

“Robb, may I stay with you tonight?” She asked softly. “I don’t want to be with my sisters…”

“I understand completely, they seem quite…well, how should I put it…” Robb didn’t want to be too rude about their behavior, but he was truly appalled.  
“Nasty? Mean? Bitchy?” Corlisse suggested a few words.

“Yeah, those and a few more,” Robb chuckled a little and put an arm around her. “But don’t worry, when you come to Winterfell, nobody will treat you like that,”  
“Do you promise me?” She asked, looking up into his eyes.

“I promise, by the old Gods and the new,” He responded, kissing her forehead. “Nobody will hurt you from here on out,”


	11. Swept Away

In the next few days, Sansa was quiet and sullen. She rarely spoke or made appearances, choosing to remain in her chambers with Lady and have her meals brought to her by kindly servants. She felt like she had to shut the world away, for it was too cruel. 

It was time for her nightly bath, and a servant had already drawn it for her. She’d undressed by now, in a nice dressing-gown of blue silk that had been gifted to her by Margaery. She was one of the only good things in this unholy world, it seemed. 

She was not fully finished removing her clothes, however—she still toyed with a silver pendant around her neck. A kraken sigil, her only memento from her beloved Theon. It was the last thing she had to remember him by; for now she was sure that he’d been apprehended and killed. Winterfell would not fall on her knees in front of an ironman—he was dead, or may as well be. The North had too many obstacles for him to get away with this.

“Lady Sansa,” Her maid, Shae, called to her. “Your bath is ready,”

“I’ll be there in a moment!” She spoke, taking off the chain and setting it on her vanity, by her hairbrush. She went into the bathroom and took off her robe, stepping into the warm bath and sighing in relaxation.

“It’s not too hot, is it my lady?” Shae inquired. “I don’t want you to boil, I’d be in a lot of trouble for that,”

“I wouldn’t worry, I tend to take extreme heat and cold pretty well…” Sansa said, shrugging slightly as she was assisted with her bath. She didn’t need too much help—mainly just getting her back and her hair was the trouble. 

“Northerners seem to take to extremes quite well, from what I have been told,” The servant responded. “At least, if Lord Tyrion is to be believed,”

“He’s a very interesting man, no doubt, one of the most honest here…” Sansa commented, sighing a little. “Tell me something, Shae…do you love him?”

“Do I love him?” The foreign woman was caught off guard by the question. “I…that is a strange question, my lady,”

“Do you?” Sansa knew she shouldn’t talk about love right now—it would only break her heart a little more than it already was. “I won’t tell anyone no matter what your answer is…”

“I do, but that is not your concern,” Shae was brief in her explanation. “What, are you in love?”

“Yes, but I don’t think the man I love will ever reciprocate,” Sansa responded. “In fact, he’s likely dead,”

“Then move on, no use crying over someone who is dead and will stay dead,” The Loranthi whore explained. “Best find a new man, one with money and power,”

“I don’t care much for those things, I guess. I would rather be loved and poor than rich and miserable,” Sansa explained, to which Shae scoffed.

“You are a little girl, I guess I shouldn’t have expected wisdom from you. But, trust me, you would be wise to chose a rich man. An older man. He probably won’t even be able to get it up on the wedding night so…you can, ehm, stay pure,” She went on. “Of course, it’s up to you, but you know that true love doesn’t pay for your pretty silk gowns and your lavish appetite,”

“I guess you’re right, but I still hold out hope. I guess that’s the fool in me,” Sansa responded, shaking her head.

“Yes, it is, but you’ll learn as you grow older. I know I did,” She responded to her, grabbing the materials to wash her long locks. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Lord Baelish snuck around the castle like a weasel hunting a mouse. His mouse, however, was a silver pendant. He knew of Theon’s capture, and wanted to make sure he had no hope of escaping. Petyr knew full well the power of a beautiful, living woman, for it was Sansa’s own mother that had driven him to crave power so deeply. It was for her, why he killed Jon Arryn and Brandon Stark, it was for her that he wanted to become Lord Paramount of the Vale and marry her—now that Eddard was gone he wouldn’t be able to stand in the way of his dream. 

With Sansa alive, Theon could hope to see her again, and could keep fighting to save himself. That hope needed to be snuffed out.

Petyr snuck into Sansa’s bedroom, and quietly scurried about, looking through her personal items without making the room seem ransacked. He needed no suspicion, like the necklace had simply vanished.  
He saw the door to her private dressing area was slightly ajar and decided to go ahead and peek in, knowing that Shae would know to mind her own business. Sansa was so, so much like her mother—down to her body shape. He didn’t linger long though, because he had more important matters to attend to right now, and the longer he stayed the more he risked getting caught. 

He finally spied the silver chain and snatched it, pocketing it quickly and leaving without a sound, just like any good thief would do.

Just ask Petyr skipped the scene, Sansa perked up and looked at her maid once more.

“Shae…did you hear something?” She asked, looking around a moment.

“No. I didn’t. Just…get your robe on and I’ll braid your hair at your vanity,” She spoke quickly, helping Sansa into it and bringing her back to her bedchambers.

Sansa sat down and handed Shae the brush, noticing quickly that her beloved pendant was gone.

“My necklace…” She frowned, beginning to panic. “My kraken necklace, Shae, where is it?”

She began to frantically file through her jewelry box and saw nothing there. She was already going to cry—her last piece of the man she loved so dearly was gone.

“My lady, I didn’t take it,” Shae defended herself fiercely. “It’s not even made of a good enough material for me, to be honest. It’s quite ugly,”

“Well, it doesn’t matter that it’s ugly! It’s very important to me, it was a special gift from a very special man,” Sansa took a deep breath, doing her absolute best not to cry.

“I…I…I can look for it! Maybe I can even try and convince Tyrion to buy you a new one. One even prettier than the old thing, made of platinum and sapphire! You would like that, wouldn’t you, Lady Sansa?” Shae did what she could to comfort Sansa, but she wasn’t the best at it. “There, there…it’ll show up,”

“It can’t be replaced, Shae, nothing could ever replace it. The finest gold from the Reach couldn’t replace it, not even diamonds from Pentos…it was who gave it to me that mattered, not what it was made of. Unless you can bring Theon Greyjoy back from the dead and have him present me with a replacement, then I don’t want it,” Sansa was starting to cry. “Just…just…you’re dismissed…”

Shae bowed her head, realizing that there wasn’t any consoling the heartbroken princess.

“I’m sorry my lady, I meant you no disrespect,” She spoke quietly, shame in her voice.

“I said, you’re dismissed. Go,” Sansa waved her hand out and put her head down at her vanity, sobbing uncontrollably. Her Theon was gone forever, swept away by a rip current called change.


End file.
